


Sources of Turmoil

by Ammeh



Series: FE3H Wankfic [7]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Groping, Accidental Stimulation, Accidental frottage, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Guilt, Intrusive Thoughts, Masturbation, Pining, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: In which Dimitri has to carry Byleth back after she collapses, and the universe conspires to make everything happen as sexily as possible.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Series: FE3H Wankfic [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862374
Comments: 20
Kudos: 235
Collections: Wank Week 2020





	Sources of Turmoil

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 of FE3H Wank Week - Accidental Stimulation / Pining
> 
> The premise might seem familiar from a kink meme prompt for "it's really hard for Dimitri/Edelgard to find a non-sexy way to carry Byleth back in ch10," because that prompt was mine. It got a wonderful Edelgard fill (which is [now up on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376261)!), but the idea fit day 5 so perfectly that I couldn't resist writing a Dimitri version too.
> 
> Byleth is unconscious here and Dimitri is trying hard to avoid groping her, but the point of the fic that he keeps accidentally failing, so please give this a pass if you think that's going to bother you!

Nothing makes sense right now.

Solon, the Flame Emperor ( _why would she..._ ), the spell, the disaster that's been this entire school year... He's closer than he's ever been, and yet he still can't understand how any of it fits together.

But the professor is okay. Somehow. For once in his damned life, a miracle.

Even better than okay, perhaps, if she was granted power by the goddess. After watching her slice her way out of the sky like something from one of the legends, it's easy to believe. Especially with her changed appearance.

Her new hair color gives her an almost...ethereal cast. A moment ago, she looked like a warrior of old, a legend made flesh. Asleep, she suddenly looks younger, vulnerable—especially in the academy uniform she was too rushed to change out of, pleated skirt and knee socks.

Pity she couldn't do him the courtesy of fainting _before_ he embarrassed himself by comparing the pair of them to Seiros and Wilhelm. (Especially considering the popular tendency to add...romantic tension to those legends.) But his discomfiture can wait. Right now, they need to get her back to the monastery to be looked over by a healer. With his strength, he's the natural choice to carry her—he puts an arm under her back and one under her knees, lifting her up against his chest. He settles his hand slightly higher on her thigh to support her and...

That's...bare skin.

Right. Skirts are loose, and the professor's uniform skirt only falls to mid-thigh normally. The bottom half's hanging straight down away from her body, not covering her at all.

He can't humiliate her by carrying her around with her underwear on display. Maybe...

He rests her weight against his chest and adjusts his grip, so that the bottom of her skirt is tucked below his hand and he can keep it held against her body. This should work.

He gets about ten feet before he becomes aware not just of the fabric under his hand, but also the cushy give of the flesh beneath. His hand's on her...her rear.

Gulping, he shifts his grip to the boniest part he can find, and adjusts her so more of her weight is resting against his chest rather than his arms.

That's...rather intimate. Her head is nestled against his shoulder, cheek pressed against him. Looking down at her, he could almost imagine they're married and he's carrying her to bed after she dozed off reading.

...But that's not what's happening at all. She's unconscious and was just subjected to an unknown spell. She needs to be taken to a place where she can recover and get checked over. It's still a good twenty minute walk back through the forest to where they left the horses, he can't afford distractions.

Forcing his gaze back to the path ahead, he soldiers on. Gradually, he becomes aware of a softness pressed against his chest, far more giving than the line of her arm.

He looks down. His throat convulses. It's as he thought—the side of her bosom is resting against him, pressed flat between their bodies.

Is there another way he could carry her that would be less compromising?

No, putting her on his back and draping her arms around his neck would press not only her chest against him, but her...womanhood. And the part of him that went through Manuela's seminar on battlefield first aid cringes at the thought of slinging her over his shoulder and letting her upper body dangle down his back while he traverses this uneven terrain.

Perhaps noticing his expression of unease, Dedue starts walking a few paces closer. “Is everything all right, your Highness?” he asks, voice low.

Dimitri clears his throat. “Y-yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Dedue.”

Dedue nods and doesn't press the issue. Soon enough, they fall back out of step as Dedue and the others cover for him by keeping ready for further attack.

He looks down to check on the professor and realizes that her skirt has been riding up her legs in front, baring the soft flesh of her upper thighs. If it rides up any further he'll be able to see—

He swallows, and shifts her so he can free his forearm to tug the hem back into place. The adjustment brings her thighs to a steeper angle, and that's all it takes.

The bunched strip of skirt that was preserving her modesty falls backwards, and he can see the join of her thighs, the soft swell of her mound swaddled in black fabric. Her underwear are _black_. He doesn't know why he's surprised, most of her clothing is—but still, there's something about the stark lines of it against her skin that's very...erotic.

His cock twitches in his pants.

Hurriedly, he tugs her skirt back into place before anyone else can see, shaking his head to clear some completely inappropriate musings about the fact her hair color could be different down there too and she wouldn't even know it yet. They're still a good ten minutes away...he shifts his grip so her thighs are at less of an incline than before, in the hopes he can avoid this happening again.

The change in angle does mean that the place he's settled his hand to keep her skirt from falling down goes from feeling like a physical construction of bone and muscle to feeling like...well...an ass.

Soft. Plump under his hand. The fabric is warmer under his pinkie. Is that the heat from her—

He rapidly shifts his hand down her thigh, so he's cupping the place where her thigh meets her body rather than her rear.

It's tolerable. He's still far more aware of her body than he ought to be, his mind is still careening off in embarrassing directions, but at least they're less obscene ones—cuddling on a sofa after a long day, gently kissing her awake.

 _Finally_ , he reaches the grove where they tied off the horses.

They've been trained on how to seat an injured or unconscious person on a horse for transport when necessary. The training did not expect that person to be wearing a skirt.

The professor sat sidesaddle on their way here, but there's no way he can keep her on the horse like that. He could tie her to her own horse and lead it, but they didn't bring rope, and he's not sure whatever they can scrounge together will be secure enough. She appears to be sleeping, not unconscious, so riding double and holding her upright seems the best option. It would be more appropriate to have one of the girls do it, but neither Annette, Flayn, nor Mercedes have the strength to hold a second rider in place with one arm, and Ingrid's pegasus is...a pegasus.

Well, there's nothing for it. He sets her up on his horse's back and mounts behind her, settling her into place on the saddle once he's up there.

The reason the professor chose to ride sidesaddle on the way here is immediately apparent, as her skirt hikes up about her waist, exposing the entirety of her thighs. He tries to tug the sides down her legs to cover her, but it's not very effective. Sylvain whistles from where he's standing by his own horse, looks like he might make a comment until Dimitri silences him with a sharp glare.

“Sylvain” he says tightly, reaching up with one hand to unfasten his cape, “please take care of leading the professor's horse back.”

“Uh, yeah, you bet, your Highness” Sylvain says, clearing his throat.

Now then. If he uses his cape as a blanket, he should be able to cover the professor enough to preserve her dignity. Tucking an arm around her torso, he lifts her back to rest against his body, settling the cape over her lap and tying it off about her waist. That should help.

The saddle's not large enough for him to leave space between them. Her entire back is up against his torso, her pelvis nestled between his thighs, his groin snug against her rear. His attempts to get her skirt to cover the tops of her thighs had pulled up the part of the skirt that was wadded behind her, and he realizes with a jolt that means his crotch is pressed directly up against her panties.

Oh no. Please, not now...

His cock fails to heed him, and thickens in his pants

Curses. This is so inappropriate—why does his body always betray him? The yielding pressure of the professor's rear squished up against his budding erection isn't promising in terms of the situation improving on its own. Is there anyone else who would be better suited to—no, he's already considered the girls. Dedue's thighs are broad enough that there's no room for a second person in his saddle. Ashe and Felix are both on smaller mares that shouldn't be given the extra weight. Sylvain....no. Absolutely not.

_Is this really the only option, or do you just want an excuse to rub your cock against her?_

No. Please. Not now. He tightens his arm around her middle and takes the reins in his free hand, urging the horse into motion.

“Ingrid!” he calls as he passes her. “Would you fly ahead and let them know what happened? The professor might need care.” What type of care, he's not entirely sure, but hopefully someone will know.

“Yes!” She nods sharply, taking off. Good. She can move faster than the rest of them, there should be someone waiting by the time they arrive.

As the horse starts up the path towards the monastery, the professor's body begins to slump forward, and he quickly shifts his arm up her torso to hold her in place, until he hits resistance.

Her breasts are pressing down on the top of his forearm. Or...it would probably be more accurate to say his arm is _lifting_ her breasts. He tries shifting it lower on her ribcage, but that just makes her torso sag forward until her breasts catch on his arm again. If...if he can't avoid the contact, it's best to hold her as securely as possible. He slides his arm back up to keep her as upright as he can, trying to ignore the pillowy weight on his forearm.

His cock still doesn't listen, now fully hard against her rear. He tries to pull away, but with the competing priorities of keeping his seat, preventing her from falling off, and guiding the horse with an extra body in the saddle, there's only so much he can do. Goddess, he hopes she doesn't wake up.

The horse starts to pick up into a trot, jostling the professor's body against him. He sucks in air between his teeth as their bodies start to knock together in a rhythm, almost like— _no_ , he's not going to think about it.

He casts his mind about for a topic he could use to distract himself, but the one topic he _should_ be focusing on is a path he does not want to send his mind down while aroused. The violence of his own thoughts frightens him sometimes, it would be far too disturbing to pair that with the feeling of a woman in his arms. Especially... No. There could still be another explanation.

After a while of this, he feels like he might go mad. It's still half an hour to the monastery. The professor's still blessedly sleeping, her breathing even. For how powerful she is in battle, she feels so... _soft_ in his arms. And...against his blasted erection.

Ashe pulls up alongside him. “Is—the professor still doing all right?” he asks, frowning softly.

“Yes, it would seem so.” Dimitri clears his throat. “I'm still not sure quite what happened, but...”

“That was a pretty scary spell, wasn't it?” Ashe says, with a tentative smile.

Dimitri exhales in silent thanks. Conversation should help him keep his mind off things a bit.

While he still can't convince his cock to just go _down_ , having something else to focus on does a lot to make things less maddening. However, he can see the exact moment where Ashe realizes how long he's been chatting with the crown prince.

His eyes widen, the smile drops off his face, and his gaze darts to the side. “I—uh—I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time, your Highness! I should go run ahead and make sure Ingrid got there.” He urges his horse on, pulling ahead.

Dimitri sighs. At least Ashe is improving.

Without the distraction, his senses are again drawn to the feeling of the professor against him. The monastery's visible in the distance, but this uphill portion is always the slowest.

The slope of the hill sends the professor sliding back in the saddle, closing what little distance he's managed to carve out between their hips. The plush curve of her bottom nestles up to where his cock is straining against his trousers. He grits his teeth. They'll be there in a quarter hour.

It's one of the longest quarter hours of his life.

By the time they return to level ground, he can feel a damp spot in his underwear. It's taking all of his control to move his hips back again instead of grinding them forward. He's absolutely appalled with his body. (Which is hardly a _new_ feeling, but—)

Lady Rhea's standing on her balcony, looking down as they ride into the monastery. Her gaze makes the fact that his cock is digging into the professor's ass under the bundle of skirt that's wadded between them even more shameful.

Ingrid hurries up as they enter. “You're supposed to take the professor straight to Lady Rhea, your Highness. I'll take your horse.”

Ingrid helps hold the professor in place as he dismounts, leading his horse off towards the stables once he's lifted her down into his arms. The cape he tied about her waist means he can keep her bottom covered without needing to keep his hand there to hold her skirt in place (he should have thought of that to begin with), but she still just looks so _good_ in his arms.

He hurries up towards the archbishop's quarters, his balls starting to ache with how long he's been hard. He's never been so glad for the extra fabric at the bottom of his uniform jacket.

Lady Rhea's waiting outside the audience chamber, something in her face lighting up as he approaches. “So it's really true...” she says softly, reaching out and stroking one of the newly pale green locks out of the professor's eyes. “Thank you for bringing her to me. I'll take our dear professor from here.” She holds out her arms, her gaze brooking no argument.

He transfers the professor to her hold, ready to catch if it looks like she's unstable—but Lady Rhea accepts the weight with surprising ease, looking down with an odd tenderness.

He supposes having someone be blessed by the goddess must be a fairly monumental occasion for the head of the church.

Lady Rhea hands him his cloak and disappears up the stairs to her personal quarters with the professor in her arms, leaving him alone in the hallway with a persistent erection and the nagging sense-memory of the professor's warmth against his skin.

He needs to...go take care of this.

After managing to make it back to the dorms without getting waylaid, he shoves the door of his room closed with his body and leans back against it, hurriedly unbuttoning his pants. He doesn't even bother to push them down, just spits in his palm, reaches in, and wraps his hand around his cock. After so long hard without relief, the direct contact is enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts up into his hand, humps his hips forward the way he spent that entire ride holding back from. Finally he lets himself _think_ about how heavy the professor's tits felt rested on his arm. How her chest would have overfilled his hand if he'd just angled his arm slightly upward.

 _She came back_. Maybe...the goddess has finally chosen to look out for him. With Professor Byleth at his side, it feels like he could accomplish anything. But he wants her more than at his side; wants her in his arms and in his bed, and against him again, awake this time.

It's ridiculous, self-indulgent, delusional, but he imagines if she'd woken up on the ride, looked over her shoulder and pressed back into him with a quiet moan—

_she would have screamed, would have been disgusted, you're lucky she'll never know what you've done, what you are_

—let him grind against her, rock her forward into the saddle horn between her legs. They would've needed to be subtle, in case one of the others looked over. Let their motions blend into the rhythm of being in the saddle, choked down their voices in climax, rode into the gates under Lady Rhea's gaze with calm faces belied by the messes in their underwear.

He imagines the moment of being pressed against her back, gasping into her hair, his cock throbbing in his pants as she wiggles back against him—

With a jolt that has his free hand flying up to cover his mouth, his body draws tight and _finally_ releases the tension that's been building for the past hour. His vision whites out for a moment, a noise that's almost a sob muffled into his palm. His come soaks through the inside of his pants, running down his knuckles in streams.

Panting, he pulls his hand out of his pants, with a slight grimace at the sticky mess collected in the grooves of his fingers and left in his underwear. He should perhaps have opted for convenience over verisimilitude.

He doesn't even make it through trying to dab his softening prick clean with a handkerchief before the guilt starts to creep up. The professor's in uncertain condition, and he's getting off to egotistical fantasies about her wanting his dick.

“That had better be out of your system now,” Glenn says—standing today, mostly whole.

He nods, sharply.

He has work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Someday I need to write post-game Dimitri so I can actually let him have nice things onscreen.


End file.
